


Run

by GeoApo



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, POV Second Person, Root's POV, Shaw returns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeoApo/pseuds/GeoApo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finch informs Root that they've found Shaw and she's running to the subway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run

**Author's Note:**

> Go away _writer's block_ , you have no power here!
> 
> I don't know why i wrote this. Root running to find Shaw was a picture i just couldn't erase from my mind.

You run. 

You can only see the lights of the cars passing by. The speed limit is, by far, broken and you don’t care. You don’t care about the honks of the cars, cautioning you to slow down; about the wall you almost crashed into or the dizziness that clouds your vision.

You don’t even care if you die tomorrow. Because today you get to see her. After months of anticipation and agony and grief, you get to see the woman who has changed your life in ways you never thought it’d be possible. 

You run.

And then you stop when you reach the stairs. There is a deafening silence hanging over the subway and you wonder if you should wait for the _sound_ to catch up, because you feel like you’re still running and you cannot stop your heart from playing drum rolls, asynchronously and flat.

You see Harold sitting on his chair, busying himself with his computer as if the world hasn’t continued spinning today; as if the sun hasn’t appeared in the sky after months of isolation, out of their world –or _her_ world. 

“Where is she?” You say and you can’t hear your own voice. Maybe you’re screaming. Maybe you’re whispering. You wouldn’t know.

But Harold hears you –he always does- and he turns around in his chair with a bizarre expression on his face (you could call it joy if the adrenaline rush wasn’t clouding your judgment), which turned into a frown the moment he realized your state. You were early. Too early and he knew you should be halfway by now, not there.

He doesn’t comment upon it though. Harold doesn’t judge -verbally. His eyes judge and his posture and his silence and even the air around him. But he doesn’t say a word. He always knew when to speak and now isn’t the time. Now you only need one answer and he knows it. 

“Back there” he points at the room where her old cot is placed and you remember that day, when you had to carry her all the way down here. You didn’t mind the burden; you could touch her without having to consider the boundaries she had set for no reason at all –in your judgment.

And now she’s here, a few meters away, and you suddenly don’t know what to do with yourself. You stand there frozen, staring at the only door that separates you from her and you don’t move –can’t move.

You hear Harold clearing his throat and you know you have to do something. Anything. 

You feel your feet dragging you there and the next moment you are pushing the door open, the dizziness is long gone, now you only can’t feel the ground beneath your feet and your vision is completely lost.

When you enter the room though there is a light on the cot that you can see. It blinds you and then your vision returns and you see again. After months of blindness you can see and it’s her that you see. 

Lying in bed, looking so small, so powerless, so alive. You stand by the door and you take in her image. She’s there, sleeping peacefully as if the broken world that is being rebuilt at this very moment, in this particular room, does not affect her in the slightest. 

The tears have stopped asking permission to come out of your eyes a long time ago and you don’t see any reason to even try obstructing them anymore. They are hot on your cheek, burning and penetrating your skin until they reach your heart. But then your heart burns them to ashes, because there burns a blazing fire, hotter than the core of the earth and the surface of the sun. 

And when you thought you could never she a light so bright again, she opens her eyes and you’re blind again. 

She doesn’t say anything, she’s just looking at you and you think you’ve already collapsed, surprisingly though you are still on your feet, shaking and terrified but still standing. 

You feel a reluctant smile growing slowly on your face and then you taste salt. Instantly, a crazy thought emerges and you wipe your tears away with a brush. She won’t like see you crying like that, so weak and emotional.

You open your mouth to say something but the words just won’t come out. They are stuck there, between your head and your tongue, and you think all of your neurons are busy passing information from your eyes to your head and then to your lacrimal glands. Nothing else works in your body. 

You’ve stopped breathing moments ago and if it wasn’t for the sound of blood flowing through your veins and your heart’s audible strokes you would have thought she’d paused too. 

Suddenly you can hear everything, even the slightest noise; Harold typing, Bear’s rumble, the fans of the computer, everything. But then she speaks and you put everything on mute, except her.

“Are you gonna stand there all night?”

She’s annoyed and grumpy and herself.

You stop thinking, the smile on your face cannot expand more, and you spring forward. 

You run again. 

But in a split second you reach your destination and you only stop moving when your arms are tightly around her waist, pulling her closer, holding her.

At first, she doesn’t move, but doesn’t push you away either and you’re grateful for it, and then you feel a light touch on you head, a hand caressing your hair, and the sky falls down on you.

Now the tears are drowning you, but you don’t care. You bury your face in the curve of her neck and you let them fall cathartically. 

The checkered flag is displayed for the second time as confetti rains down on your head to signify the end of the race; a race that you ran with total dedication and that you eventually won.

You won!

And you are not running anymore.


End file.
